


Crown And Sword

by transmarkcohen



Series: Miria [2]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transmarkcohen/pseuds/transmarkcohen
Summary: (Sequel to Miria.)Mark has taken his kingdom back, but what will it take to keep it?





	1. A Price To Pay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadlinesBreadlinesBlowMyMind/gifts).



    The rusting pipe in the corner of his cell had sprung a leak. Water constantly dripped from it, and no one bothered to come down and fix it. He didn’t care, though.  _ Drip. Drip. Drip.  _ He’d been trained to sleep anywhere.  _ Drip. Drip. Drip. _

The cell was so damp and so low, so full of stale air, not even rats bothered to visit. But he didn’t have anyone one who needed-or wanted-to visit, besides the maid who brought him his meals. The remainder of his dinner lay in the corner next to the books she’d also checked out for him from the palace library. How long had he been here? Days? Weeks? He stared at the wall where he’d traced a pattern with his fingertips in the dust earlier, not bothering to clean it off. It would stay there. Unlike him, it wouldn’t slowly rot away.

His bed was creaky and the mattress was lumpy. The base was wrought iron. And somehow, it was  _ creaky.  _ He supposed he didn’t have anything to complain about. He was an attempted murderer, after all. 

Roger sighed, his head on the misshapen pillow. He wished Glennys would come down. She was the one who brought his food, and the only person he’d talked to in a long time. So, when he heard footsteps on the stairs leading to the dungeon, his ears perked up. He sat up on the bed and waited anxiously for her to come. 

But this visitor wasn’t Glennys. They were much shorter, much skinnier, and wore a brown cloak that looked itchy. Was it made from wool? That was one of the main exports of Miria. Roger internally groaned. He’d rather die in this cell than ever hear talk about another sheep. 

The person removed their hood. Roger gasped and scrambled down to the floor, kneeling with his head bowed low. “King Mark,” he said, keeping all the formality of greeting a royal in his voice. “Your Majesty, I-“

“Silence,” Mark interrupted. “And look up. Jeez. I’m not the Goddess.” 

Roger looked up. Mark’s circlet was on his head, glowing the moonlight. Wait. No. Not the moonlight. It had its own glow. Roger frowned at that, confused. 

Mark sighed impatiently. “Yes, it glows,” he said. His blue eyes were impatient. Frustrated. “I came down here to talk to you.”

“I’m the only prisoner down here, it’s not like you had options,” said Roger, immediately regretting it. His eyes widened. “Oh my god-goddess-I’m so sorry-please sacrifi-“ 

“I’m not going to sacrifice you!” Mark snapped. “And jeez, not for sarcasm. Have you heard me?” 

There was a pause that may have been funny if both weren’t considering what had led them to their current positions. 

“ _ Anyway, _ ” Mark said, impatiently trying to get back on track, “I came to talk because I want to use you as a secret weapon.”

“A-what?”

Mark squinted at Roger. “You have working ears, correct? You’ll be our secret weapon. We’re engaged in war with Prevobia-“ 

“Marater,” Roger said before he could stop himself.

“What?”

“Marater. That’s what we-they...call it,” Roger explained. “Your Majesty, I don’t see what use-I mean, you were going to hang me-“

“I was,” said Mark. “But, as I said, we’re kinda  _ in the middle of a war here.”  _ He gestured around angrily. “And all my execution plans go out the window because of that  _ stupid  _ Emperor!”

“How would you use me?” asked Roger quietly. “I mean, I’d-I’d be happy to...oblige, I’ll do anything for my King. I mean my kingdom! My kingdom.”

Mark furrowed his brow. “ _ Your  _ King?  _ Your  _ kingdom?” He asked, incredulous. 

Roger nodded quickly, bowing to Mark. “I-I’ve decided-I’ll stay loyal to Miria, I mean I’m loyal to Miria now, I swear it’s not a ploy to earn my freedom, I’m not saying you can or-or even really should trust me, I’ve been studying, see-“ He gestured to the books in the corner. “I’ve converted to Letahi and I’m praying to the Goddess every night and I haven’t spoken any Cagi, well, only Old Cagi, ‘cause that’s what people use to do magic, I’ve been working on my Mirian, my handwriting too, Glennys is helping me, and I want to help you so I guess just tell me what-what you’d use me for and how you’d use me.” Roger took a deep breath in. “Please. Uh-Your Majesty.” 

Mark blinked, unsure how to respond to this. “Oh. Uh-okay. Well. We’d claim you were a prisoner of war, which you  _ kind of  _ are, but not exactly, I’m new to this politics thing anyway. And we’d-we’d use you to spy on Prevo...Marater. I’ll call them that when I talk to them, um, neutrally. Or when I’m on the battlefield. To…show ‘respect’.” Mark made air quotes around the word “respect”. “‘Cause see, the King is like the lead general, but I’m only sixteen, but they say it  _ has  _ to be that way, and uh-and uh-“ 

Mark suddenly sat down right outside the cell and started crying. 

“Your-Your Majesty?” Roger tentatively asked. 

“The messenger,” Mark said quietly. “He delivered a message to me-the first battle-I mean-the Battle of Al Tas, that’s what they’re calling it-“ Mark gulped in a sob. “One hundred and thirty-six people died. Half of them were...were civilians.” 

“Oh,” said Roger. “I’m...sorry.” 

“No, it’s-I shouldn’t be crying, I’m the King.” Mark furiously wiped his tears away and stood up, wrapping his cloak around him again. “So. You’ll do it?” 

Roger nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Anything for-what I hope is my kingdom.” 

“You will never be part of this kingdom,” Mark said coldly, and he climbed the stairs out of the dungeon. 


	2. Strategy and Diplomacy

    A few days later, Mark sat at a table surrounded by commanding officers. There was a map spread out across it-it was upside down to Mark, so he had to mentally keep flipping it when they talked about battle strategies and such. And, to be fair-Mark didn’t find this all that exciting.

    “We attack here, at this inlet,” Helden said. “They’d never expect it. They’ve never been attacked before and the Emperor doesn’t have any guards there.”

    “That’s exactly why they _would_ expect it,” Mark said bitterly. “They know that we want to surprise them. So they’re going to expect only surprises through this war. We need to stick purely to tried strategies. That have _worked.”_

    “Yes, well-“ Helden’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “May I speak freely, Your Majesty?”

    “Yeah, sure, whatever,” Mark grumbled.

    “That’s exactly why we _should_ try a surprise. Because they’ll have figured out that we know they’re expecting surprises, and so they’ll mobilize to be in place for typical battlesites. Just let me take a fleet and attack the bay here-“

    “No,” said Mark firmly.

    “But-“

    “I said no. We are not losing more soldiers this soon.” Mark stood up, his eyes angry. Most of the officers were focused on his circlet-the circlet that somehow gave this _sixteen-year-old_ ultimate authority over everything else. “I want soldiers around the entire border. We are fighting on the defensive. If we attack, we will be as bad as Prevobia and their Emperor. We will defend our land from these-from these, uh-“ Mark struggled a bit, trying to find the word. “From these savage invaders. I do not want any more civilians to die, as well.”

    “Civilians hardly matter in the grand scheme of-“

    “Would you like to join Davis in the dungeon, Helden?” Mark asked. It was polite, but Helden, who was being faced with Mark’s icy glare, felt himself crumple. No wonder this kid had power.

    “N-no. I apologize, Your Majesty.”

    “Good. Now leave! All of you! You’re dismissed.” It was really Mark’s way of saying _Get out of my face._

The officers scrambled to get out of there, and as soon as they were gone, Mark sat back down and dropped his demeanor. He sighed heavily. As soon as he’d become king, he was thrust into this war. He just wanted to take care of his goddamn sheep. (Roger the sheep was currently in the stables with the horses, being pampered as much as any of them. Mark thought he’d grown fat, though the servants insisted they fed Roger the right amount of food.)

    Mark turned the map around to look over it. The kingdom of Hassan lay across the sea from Miria, just south of Prevobia. “Marater, how stupid,” Mark mumbled to himself. “Should call themselves what we call them.”

    His eyes flickered over the capital of Hassan, Jileta. Mark gasped as he had an idea. Who was their leader? That ruler-what was his name?

    He was just a bit older than Mark. Maybe this plan could work.

    Yes. Yes, it would.

    Mark would marry the leader of Hassan for an alliance-whose name he’d finally remembered: Tom Collins.

 


	3. Eye For An Eye

This meeting with Collins was not going how Mark had expected it. He was in Jileta, with two of his commanding officers, Silya and Pli, facing Collins on his own. The ruler insisted people call him only Collins, no sort of title or anything. Silya and Pli had insisted on coming in their armor with Mark in his full royal costume, while Collins was wearing casual chamber clothes. He leaned back in his chair, smiling at Mark and his guards. 

“You haven’t given a straightforward answer,” Mark told Collins in Cagi with his beautiful accent. “Do you want to go forward with it or not?” 

“You haven’t given a straightforward plan,” Collins responded. He was handsome. His voice was soft, but Mark felt that it had to power to calm down an entire room. And-Mark was attracted to it. That would help with his plan. 

Mark sighed. “Fine,” he answered. “We marry, our kingdoms unite, kingdoms Miria and Hassan, against Prevobia-“ 

“They would combine?” 

“No, not really-they would-they would-“ Mark said something in Mirian to Silya. Collins studied him. Mark was only a few years younger than him, but he was quite attractive. And he’d been through so much. What did this kid do to deserve so much to happen to him?

“Kingdoms come together. Form an…” Mark struggled with the next word, it grating against his native Mirian. “A-lli-ance.” 

“And we would get married to do this.” 

Mark and Collins’s eye contact was so strong, you could have cut it with a knife. “Yes.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“For the politics?” 

Collins placed his hand on the table and pushed up from his seat. “King Mark, you should know-I never do anything purely for politics.” 


	4. A Ruler’s Gifts

**Personal Journal of King Mark I**

 

**Monday**

**It’s not like they can know how stressful this is for me. I mean, none of them had to become King at 16 and watch their parents die and have their ex-boyfriend betray them and then get married for politics when you wanted to get married to your ex-boyfriend that tried to kill you!**

**Yeah, that was sarcasm. So what? I don’t have to be so professional all the time. Stupid. Fucking. Politics.**

 

**Wednesday**

 

**I’ve set Roger’s execution to take place in three days. But I don’t think I can really go through with it. I mean, I’m just a kid! I can’t kill people. Well, I murdered that old leader of the New Regime. But that’s different! This is Roger! I can’t kill him. It doesn’t matter that I’m not the one actually killing him.**

**But I can’t let him live. He’s a traitor. He tried to kill me. He helped the New Regime. He betrays everyone he meets - Mimi and Prevobia by sleeping with me, me and Miria by trying to kill me and making me trust him. Making me love him! I bet that was all a trick. He’s nothing but a trickster and a traitor and he deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his life.**

**That feels so harsh. But wouldn’t killing him be harsher? All these moral questions that play into politics. Why did I ever have to become King?**

 

**Royal Declaration of War**

 

With this document, King Mark I, His Most Royal Majesty, Defender of Miria, Defeater of the New Regime, Leader of Sheep, He Who Sits On The Throne Alone, Enemy of those Who Wish Miria Harm, signs Miria into a war with the country of Prevobia for the following reasons:

    I.     They have sent a spy to us, who has betrayed the King and all of his followers. This betrays our trust and any past, present, or future alliance with the state of Prevobia. Trade regulations will be cut off and any Mirian currency exchanged for Prevobian must be returned to the Mirian Bank.

    II.    They have helped, willingly or not, the New Regime to destroy Miria’s government, loyalty to all people, and betrayed the people’s trust, both of Prevobia and Mira, of which they were covenanted to not break off. A government should not have these faults.

    III.   King Mark I’s former fiancé was sent to betray him and all of Miria. As this is a capital offense, the offender has been sentenced to death and will be executed Saturday.

 

                            Royal Declaration Signed,

                            **King Mark I**

 

**Thursday**

 

**I called Roger my fiancé. Lied.**

 

**And somehow, I don’t feel guilty about it.**

 

**I’m just as much of a traitor to Miria as he is.**

 

    Mark lifted the quill off the tear-stained page, set his journal aside with the quill next to it, and blew out the candle as he climbed into bed. There would be no dreams tonight.


	5. Magic of Rigor Mortis

    Mark slammed the book shut and brushed past the librarian, taking it with him to his room. He didn’t even pay attention to her calling after him that he needed to check it out even if he  _ was  _ the mother-freaking king. 

It held the answer. To quite a few problems, he thought. Definitely one of them.

Mark set the book down gently next to his pillow, and settled into bed, grinning. 

Tomorrow. And everything would work out. 

 

So it was today. 

Roger stood in the middle of the amphitheater, staring straight at the last thing he would probably see. He’d been marched up here from his cell by the two guards. 

Mark had postponed his execution, sure. But it was still going to happen. Oh,  _ goddess,  _ why’d he ever have to fall in love with Mark, of all people? Why not Mimi? They’d had a thing. A weird thing. He still wasn’t sure what she thought of him. Obviously a traitor, but-No. This didn’t matter now. He was going to die, and no one could do anything about it. 

So,  _ of course,  _ Mark ran onto the platform. “Wait!” He called, his voice going three octaves up. His knuckles were white-he was clutching something. Whatever it was, though, Roger couldn’t tell through Mark’s sweaty knuckles. 

The executioner put down his paper that he’d been assigned to read for Roger’s execution. “King Mark?” He asked, sounding disappointed. “I had thought you wanted me to proceed with the execution.” 

“Not,” Mark gulped, panting for breath. “Not...Roger’s. I...here.” 

The executioner took the paper and read it, his eyes widening with every word. “Sir!” 

Mark was gulping in deep breaths. Roger knew they weren’t just from running, now. Mark was terrified and absolutely sure of what he was about to do. 

“Sir,” the executioner said again, “I can’t-I can’t execute my King. You haven’t-I mean-“ He read farther down the page, his eyebrows narrowed. “You’ve eaten  _ sheep?!’  _

Mark nodded quickly, his eyes shut tight. “And I’ve said Riras’s name in vain, and I’ve murdered...five...f-five people...commoners...and I’ve betrayed Miria...and-“ 

Roger stood there, statue-like. Still. He’d never seen anyone as angry as the executioner. And he’d never heard anyone who wasn’t a spy  _ lie  _ so much. 

“You have to-you have to execute me,” Mark was saying. His eyes were open again. They were determined now. Resilient. Stubborn. The fear was gone, unless you knew Mark like Roger did. And it would stay there until the light left his eyes. 

“I’ve betrayed everyone. More than he has. Roger should live. Give him some land, somewhere in the countryside, have him be a farmer. A-a shepherd.” 

“Yes,” said the executioner. “Yes...and how will we deal with the loss of yet another monarchy so soon after our last?” 

“Glennys,” Mark nearly gasped, “Make her Queen. She’s loyal to Miria. She knows politics inside and out. She is able to take on Mimi and her Empire.” 

“Alright,” said the executioner. Roger suddenly noticed the people in the stands. The people who’d come to watch his execution. Which was now their King’s execution. 

The executioner spoke louder now. “Let those last few lines uttered be the last orders any Mirian ever follows from King Mark I, the Traitor!” 

“The Traitor!” 

They were so quick to turn. Quicker than Roger. And he’d betrayed countless people over the years. 

“Go, boy,” the executioner said to Roger. “You’ll get to watch the Traitor’s execution. That’s a gift in itself. Perhaps Queen Glennys will be more merciful than he ever was.” 

Roger glanced back as he ran to the stands, mouthing one word at Mark:  _ Why?  _

__ And, when he was about to die, Mark grinned back at Roger. A plastered smile that would stay on for his death. 

 

-

 

Mark awoke several hours later, lying on his back and gazing upward. Air whooshed through him. No, around him. Wait-

Mark sat up, noticing that he was on his bed. The covers hadn’t been changed since that morning, the bed wasn’t made. 

And the wind was blowing through him. Mark threw his arms up in the air and whooped. “It worked!” He said. “It’s working!” 

Nobody could or would hear him. That was good. 

Mark ran to the door and threw it open, the heavy door slamming against the wall on the other side. “It’s working!” He yelled. His feet were bare. He looked down and gaped, amazed that they were translucent-that he could see them, and see the floor through them. He was dressed back in his simple peasant’s tunic. 

Mark ran down the stairs of the castle two at a time. Castle, palace-what did it matter? The only thing that mattered to Mark now was getting Glennys-no, Queen Glennys-to win the war against Prevobia. 

Mark grinned, wide. He needed to find Roger. Where was Roger? 

He glanced at the wall next to him, gaining an idea. This  _ had  _ to work. 

Mark ran straight at the wall, and-

Passed through it. 

He was face-to-face with a sleeping lump in the bed, in a kitchen servant’s room. 

And just his luck. The lump was Roger. 

Mark whooped yet again. Of course it didn’t wake Roger up. 

He walked forward, trying to shake Roger. His hands went through his ex-boyfriend and Mark cursed. 

Then he had an idea. Mark leaned down and blew a stream of air over Roger’s ear. 

Roger’ eyes snapped open. He was awake. “What the fuck?” He said. He rolled over to his other side-and screamed. 

Mark put a finger to his lips. “Shh! Shh, it’s okay. This can all work out.” 

Roger rubbed his eyes. “No. No, I’m going crazy. You died!” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, dear Goddess,  _ why…”  _

__ “Roger! Have you never seen a ghost before?” Mark crossed his arms, annoyed. 

Roger finally made eye contact with Mark, still fearful. “N-no.” 

“Okay, listen. Here’s the plan: Glennys is Queen long enough for the war to end, and then you take this big book of spells I found-it’s on my bed, on the right side of the pillow-and resurrect me with the one called the ‘magic of Rigor Mortis’. It’s not  _ super  _ ideal that I had to die for it to work, but being a ghost has been pretty cool so far.” Mark leaped up and did a flip in the air, then settled back down to earth. “So, will you do it?” 

For the first time in a while, Roger genuinely smiled. “Actually...yeah. I can’t wait to wreak havoc.” 

“I didn’t even mention that in the plan, but yeah, let’s do that too.” 

They grinned at each other. And then tried to high five. 

Because Mark was a ghost, this did not work and his hand went straight through Roger’s. 


	6. The Massacre of Hassanis

_              We watched as it gobbled up our valley  _

__ __ __ _ The flames spilt up the hill  _

__ __ __ _ Treating death as a child’s game  _

__ __ __ _ Coming on a moment’s will  _

 

__ __ __ _ The bodies of our people littered the green pastures  _

__ __ __ _ The sparrow sang her song no more  _

__ __ __ _ Grass still burned, the air filled with soot and ashes  _

__ __ __ _ Above all this I soar  _

 

__ __ __ _ I know this land  _

__ __ __ _ It used to make my home  _

__ __ __ _ But I left  _

__ __ __ _ And now there is nowhere I can call my own  _

 

__ __ __ _ We let them come the first time  _

__ __ __ _ They killed our people a second  _

__ __ __ _ Now,  _

__ __ __ _ There is nothing left to gain,  _

__ __ __ _ Nothing left to reckon  _

 

__ __ __ _ I saw a body torn open  _

__ __ __ _ The back still gushing blood  _

__ __ __ _ Bones forming a grisly work of art from the back  _

__ __ __ _ Covered my eyes with my hands  _

__ __ __ _ And my shame with a hood  _

 

__ __ __ _ I loved this land as much as my own  _

__ __ __ _ What could have happened so long ago?  _

__ __ __ _ Why did I go, why did I roam  _

__ __ __ _ Why did I leave what had been my only home?  _

 

Mark shivered as he woke up, the ghostly rhythm still strung in his head. The burning fields of Hassanis...no. Mark shook his head, groaning in frustration. Hassan. When the hell had it been Hassanis? 

He got up quietly, forgetting that he had no reason to be silent. He walked to the library from Roger’s room and quickly looked for the oldest book possible. He grabbed it as soon as possible, dust spilling from inside and from the cover.  The title was intricately designed, and Mark ran his ghostly finger over the lines. The title was in an even fancier, harder to read version of Mirian. 

_ Miri.  _

__ Mark had always wanted to learn it. To know his roots. 

He supposed now was as good a time to start, and so he sat down to read THE MASSACRE OF HASSANIS. 

Dust blocked Mark’s view of the full title, covering the part that added AND MIRI. 


	7. Stupid

_ Monday  _

Hello, I try to write in here. Mark tells me writing down helps to remember. Mirias is hard for me. Not hard a lot to speak. Hard to write. Speaking is sometimes trouble. I lose grammar and verbs and pasta. (I don’t know if that’s the word for, for-for the building of sentence or for a food, but I write it down either way, because I am not sure.) And I cannot very easy check with Mark if my writing is  ~~good~~   ~~right~~  correct. 

 

_ Tuesday  _

I think Mark, stupid. Decision is stupid to have make. Also, turns out I did not know proper Mirias in Prevobia - they teach standard form. Native form is hard. Writing is still more hard. Mark, he be stupid. I do not even know if that is  ~~ correct ~~ right. I mix always up on that word. Very hard word to get  ~~ correct ~~ ~~right~~  good. 

 

_ Wednesday  _

Mark idiot. He dies and annoys me.

 

_ Thursday _

I love Mark, actually. But he  ~~ be ~~ are stupid. A lot. And yet he was King. 

 

_ Friday _

I am still miss him. 


	8. Diplomacy in Cagi

    Collins sat at the table, still as he heard the news.

    _King Mark I has been executed for crimes against his land. The scheduled execution of Roger Davis was canceled, and replaced with the execution of the traitorous King._

Collins waved the officer away when she was finished reading the announcement. She gave a solid nod, and left the room.

    So this was the kind of person his ex-fiancé was.

    Collins leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together, thinking about that fact.

    Impulsive. Stubborn. Willing to stop an execution by being executed himself, so…maybe a little stupid.

    And single-minded. Had he forgotten the supposed engagement-alliance? What was Miria’s policy on this?

    Collins finally decided to open the letter from someone named “Glennys.” Whoever it was, they wrote very beautifully in Cagi, even for a Mirian.

        _Dear Collins,_ the letter began,

    _This is Queen Glennys of Miria writing to you. I am aware this may be confusing…our young King unfortunately took his own life three days ago, essentially executing himself. He may not have realized what he was doing. I know what he was trying to do, and that was to save his friend, Roger._

_I know about his planned engagement with you. I want to formally apologize for this abrupt abandonment of proposal. My deepest sentiments go to you, dear Collins._

_King Mark appointed me as his successor. I am not sure why, either. Logically, he should have appointed you-it is in accordance with our politics much more than appointing a random kitchen servant._

_So-_

_I formally extend an offer to share the throne with you. Not at all marriage, but an oligarchal offer. We would rule together. You would keep Hassan, and I would keep Miria. An alliance fit for a king and a queen, fit to take on the Prevobian Empire and Empress Mimi. My efforts would be much more diplomatic than previous ones, but this is not the time or place to discuss those quite yet._

_I am old, and no longer young enough to bear children. I doubt you will be having children, either. But do not fear for an heir-there is already a successor approaching._

_Most sincerely,_

_Queen Glennys_

 

    Collins finished reading the letter and placed it down on the table. A gentle smile came across his lips. “So this was your plan, Mark?” He asked softly. “Admirable. But you could have done the diplomacy yourself.”

    He stood up from the table, leaving the letter open, and headed back to his chambers to sleep on the idea of this newer alliance.


	9. Screw-Up

    Mirian bedsheets are the finest one can buy. Made from the softest, most sacred wool of the sheep, they are perfect for sitting on alone at night with the fire in the lamp flickering out and crying. 

So Roger was doing exactly that. Ugly crying, too-sobbing into his hands loudly. The walls of the Mirian palace, however, were thick enough that no one could hear him. 

His whole body shook and he was making noise, and he didn’t bother to avoid tears falling into his mouth. They tasted salty. He wondered briefly what he’d have for breakfast tomorrow morning. 

Roger continued crying. 

Then the Nuisance came into his room. 

Roger had nicknamed this particular figure the Nuisance, because this particular figure was now to Roger exactly that - An Annoying Nuisance Who Is A Handsome Idiot. 

Hi, said Mark’s ghost, coming in and sitting on Roger’s bed. He grinned. God, Roger could see the door through him. That wasn’t right. This kid was only 16. 

Roger didn’t look up, only mumbling. “Hello,” he said in return to Mark. 

Mark smiled somehow wider. I like you. Seeing you again, I mean. Are you still working on your Mirias journal? I saw you working on it yesterday, I like that you’re so… Mark frowned as he searched for the word. ...Dedicated. 

“Mark, can you just-” Roger sighed deeply. “I have to do...stuff...right now. I’ve had to work all day and I was hoping I could have some time to myself right now.”

Mark frowned, his mouth hanging a little open. He closed it tightly, quickly. Am I doing something wrong? 

“You already did!” Roger said, growing impatient. 

Mark looked bewildered, taken aback. What? He asked. 

Roger finally looked up at him, his eyes red and puffy and his cheeks tearstained. He glared at Mark. “You killed yourself! Just to save me! Do you realize how  _ idiotic  _ that was? You’re an idiot! You were the King, you could have just called the execution off! I would have been  _ fine  _ living out the rest of my life in prison if it meant that you were alive!” This prompted another round of sobs from Roger. 

Mark’s mouth hung open. He cradled his arms and looked downward, at the sheets on Roger’s bed. I just- he stopped himself. I just wanted...to make everything okay. 

“Yeah, well, you made everything  _ worse,  _ so thanks for that.” 

You don’t normally cry this much. 

“No, I don’t! This is your fault! Ever since you died I’ve been having these mood swings and crying nonstop, but I can’t let people see, because I don’t want them to know that I  _ love you!”  _

__ Roger…

“Oh, right, sorry.  _ Loved  _ you.”

Mark’s face scrunched up. He was clearly upset. He looked as if he might start crying, as well. 

“Oh, don’t start. Idiot.” 

...Roger…

“What.” 

I just-I’m only trying to help you! Because I love you! Present tense!

“Yeah, you sure help me by killing yourself, abandoning your country, and not even knowing that Roger the sheep gave birth to little-fuck, I don’t know, sheep babies!” 

Mark gasped. Sheep...babies? Roger the sheep is a girl? 

“Yes! Oh, god, you’re a  _ halret.”  _

__ I should...go see her, then. 

Mark fled Roger’s room, and Roger thought he could hear him sobbing. 


End file.
